


Prelude

by lumberwoof



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Multi, bigender!Haruka, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumberwoof/pseuds/lumberwoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prior to her violin concert, Michiru shares a moment with Haruka and catches a glimpse of things to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Act 29 of Infinity Arc.

Mugen Academy provides a dimly lit and well furnished dressing room for Michiru to prepare in. There’s nothing left to prepare, however. There’s no sheet music to go over, no makeup to touch up, no instruments to tune - her violin sits in its case, polished and ready - there’s just silence as she waits.

The silence has never been a source of calm for Michiru, and it brings no peace as it lingers, seeping into her as she waits for her show to start.

Years ago, Michiru would’ve been a bucket of nerves hidden under a cool veneer at this point. As time whittled away even more, the anxious tremor in her gut would’ve grew into a nauseating pit that took root and didn’t let go until after the concert was over. But that was before Sailor Neptune, when being a successful violinist was the only future she could see in her reflection every morning.

Now, there’s only the flashes of visions that press insistently at the backs of her eyes, that flicker at the edge of every mirror. She aches at the thought of her new future, at the glimpses of her past, and how the two meld together seamlessly - the ruined buildings, the darkened skies, the fallen senshi, and the crushing weight of absolute silence.

The silence of now is broken by the shouts and laughter of Mugen Academy students filling the other floor for the Hanyu Mimi concert. Beyond that, Michiru can hear the quiet din of her own audience finding their seats. She holds some bitterness about the school deciding to the schedule the two concerts at the same time, but she supposes it hardly matters since both events are sold out and the only student that Michiru actually cares about will be watching her tonight.

Speaking of, the door opens and Haruka steps inside, dressed in a fitted black suit that Michiru is sure is hand-tailored. (Haruka is so much more vain than people realize.)

“You’re late,” Michiru chides.

There’s only a handful of minutes left before she’s expected on stage.

“I’m not the one who has to perform,” Haruka says, moving to stand behind Michiru’s chair, hands sliding up her shoulders to card through the rolling waves of her hair. “So technically, I’m early.”

She leans back into his touch (and it is _his_ touch, today), and the two meet each other’s gaze in the vanity mirror, the image of a picturesque couple reflected back at them. The deepest blues in her eyes are brought forward by the tie Haruka’s wearing. A subtle match that Michiru appreciates.

“Ah, it’s not quite the right colour, is it?” Haruka asks, adjusting the knot of the tie. “Maybe I should’ve gotten a rose to pin to my breast pocket.”

Haruka would never be that obvious, though, and they both know it. “You’re only saying that because Usagi is wearing roses, too.”

“Maybe.”

His hands drop back to Michiru’s shoulders and she notes with a frown that his tie is now crooked from his fiddling. It must’ve been intentional on Haruka’s part, because the corners of his mouth pull up into a small smirk when she meets his gaze again.

She can turn around and face Haruka, voice some chastising words, but she doesn’t want to break the fragility of the moment that exists in their reflection. Her own mirror, her talisman, shows her visions of things that will come to pass. Now, in this mirror, in this moment, she wants to hold onto the present she sees staring back at her - her and Haruka, together.

Reaching up, she uses the mirror to guide her hands to Haruka’s tie, gently tugging and smoothing it to lay flat again.

For a brief moment, Michiru, indulges herself, lets herself imagine a future where this ends happily for them, as impossible as it seems. She imagines a future where she and Haruka are unburdened by duty, free to live and dream together.

The reflection in the mirror changes. Her and Haruka are dressed in airy, summer clothes and illuminated by sunlight. She’s holding a bouquet of white flowers while Haruka, hand on Michiru’s hip, looks at her with tender eyes and a content smile. There’s a gentle breeze that carries the scent of the ocean, and the sun catches on the simple bands they’re both wearing on their ring fingers.

And just like that, it’s over. The image fades back into the shadowed dressing room, Haruka standing stoically behind her, his solemn look an anchor that keeps her grounded, even at the bottom of the ocean.

His hands run up her arms, cup her hands where they still loosely grasp the knot of his tie and pull them free. Warm breath flutters against her knuckles as he bows his head, brings her calloused fingertips to his mouth but doesn’t kiss - just holds them close.

Michiru lets herself hold onto the moment a little bit longer - lets Haruka hold onto her a little bit longer - and then gently slips her hands free.

It’s almost time.

She stands and Haruka steps back, moving to the door.

“You’ll be watching?”

It’s not even a question that needs asking, but something is making Michiru stretch this small pocket in time as much as she can.

“Always, Michiru,” Haruka says, voice thick and rasping.

He holds the door open for her as they leave. Michiru, violin and bow gripped firmly in her hands, heads for the stage without sparing another glance to the mirror behind her.

Sometimes dreams are just dreams.


End file.
